I have squirrels in my attic that keep finding ways to get in, no matter what barriers I create.

They are well-behaved squirrels. They don't make a mess. They don't make any smell. Only rarely do they make any noise.

They don't nibble on the old clothes or whatever other who knows what else is up there.

They even uncovered some precious old love letters that otherwise I would never have known existed.

With winter coming, I know they will need shelter for their squirrel babies.

They are about as good as good squirrels can be. And there are gazillions of acorns in the yard that I'll never eat.

But, you know what? I just don't care. This is my house, and squirrels don't belong in my house any more than the neighborhood possum. If I were to give them free run of the attic, soon my attic would be off-limits to me, zoned for squirrels, like the trees. It wouldn't be long before they would find a way into my living space. Eventually, they would even find my stash of shelled pecans . . . and nobody gets into my stash of shelled pecans.

I'm sorry, animal lovers. But that's just how it is.

Hasta la vista, Rocky y sus bebé ardillas.